Reykjavík Grapevine - feb. 2020, Blaðsíða 13

Reykjavík Grapevine - feb. 2020, Blaðsíða 13
 13 The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 02— 2020 “It’s good to be back in the daily life of Klemens,” Klemens Hannigan says, a small smile brightening his face. He sits cross-legged on the floor, forgo- ing the couch, leaning back against Matthías’s bed. “My older daughter is back in kindergarten and I’m finishing some renovations on the house. Just normal life.” Goodbye humanity As we speak, we're days away from the release of ‘Neyslutrans’ (‘Consumption Trance’), Hatari’s debut album; just weeks before Klemens and the rest of the band embark on their Europe Will Crumble tour. For Klemens, this is the last bit of normal life for a while—the calm before the storm, you might say. “‘Neyslutrans’ is a sort of hymn or memorial to the 21st century,” he explains. As he talks, the smile previ- ously gracing his face disappears. “A goodbye album to the Earth or, rather, to humanity. The Earth will do just fine without us.” While others get angry or impas- sioned by the current environmental crises, Klemens just seems upset. “It’s a bit sad. You get a lot of anxiety-driven thoughts about how you, as an indi- vidual, can actually make an impact or change, and what you should actu- ally be doing to maintain the human race,” he says. “Me, as an individual, I don’t know what my contribution is. I try to recycle. It’s a bit counterintuitive to be organising a European tour but yet again we describe the counterin- tuitively through the name of the tour, Europe Will Crumble.” He pauses. It’s clear this issue is one of great importance to him. “Although, we did carbon neutralise our last tour on this website where you can pay X amount for the distance travelled and then they plant trees for the carbon you used,” he explains. He seems happy at the attempt, but definitely quizzical on just how much of an effect something like that actually has. Building a world At all times, Klemens encapsulates the word ‘artist.’ He takes every remark seriously, calmly reflecting on his words before he speaks, and when he does, projecting a raw sense of vulner- ability with them. A lesser man might mistake this openness for fragility, but they’d be wrong to do so. As you speak with him, it becomes clear that Klemens is intensely connected to his thoughts, emotions, and artistic desires. Building, creating, and inno- vating is more than important to him, it’s fundamental. “I never really found myself in this industrial route that you’re forced into,” he explains, thinking back to his schooling and teenage years. “Educa- tion, then having to choose a career, and fulfilling your 30-40 years of 8:00-17:00. Reading and writing never comes easy to me, but being very physi- cal and visual comes easy. Doing things with my hands—molding, sculpting, making music as well.” He laughs—gobsmacked—when asked what a younger Klemens would think of his work in Hatari. “I would have been pleasantly surprised, I don’t know,” he grins. “Art can always start, or often starts, as some ridiculous idea you get with yourself or with others.” Hatari, he emphasises, was no excep- tion. “I had just started making elec- tronic music and I asked Matthías to shout something over this beat. We enjoyed the entertainment of creating the concept and the imagery around the band—making this other world. It’s just a coincidence that it ended up being a band rather than just us two concept artists.” Digressing into BDSM In these early days of Hatari, the group donned military costumes, which even- tually evolved into their current BDSM aesthetic. “It was a natural progres- sion, like you do, to digress into BDSM. Everyone does it,” he laughs. “The dynamic onstage between the three of us has progressed, yes, but it is still very similar to the way we imagined it in the beginning. Matthías as the dicta- tor. Me, the resented foster son, the empathy, the emotional side. Einar, the hidden trauma or pain, the general of the dictator’s army, the Gimp.” Eurovision, as Klemens explains, pushed the Hatari world even further, in ways the group couldn’t have imag- ined, and perhaps might not have wanted. “We maintained more mystery before Eurovision. We refused all inter- views and all kinds of connections to media were either staged or produced by us hands-on,” he explains. “Eurovi- sion forced us to present the concept of the band. We’d never had such a demand for us to explain our art. I feel that it’s unnecessary for an artist to explain the art that you produce but, going into this very mainstream TV show, a lot of our humour and comedy leaked into the band then.” 2020 trance Thankfully, the demands on the group to prove themselves have lessened since the competition, and the three are now looking forward to the next stage: the Consumption Trance. But for Klemens, 2020 will be a trance of more than just music. Along with continuing his schooling in conceptual art, he’ll be getting married in April to his longtime girlfriend, Ronja. And there will be moments of returning to daily Klemens life. “Hope- fully finishing renovations in the house soon,” he says. “And of course, striving to be a good father to my two beautiful daughters.” Einar Stefánsson has never done an interview as a member of Hatari. For years, the elusive, submissive CEO of Svikamylla ehf. (Hatari's parent corpo- ration) has refused all press, staying silent, preferring to skulk in the shad- ows in his white contacts and spiked face mask. The Gimp, as he’s referred to, is the ultimate enigma. It’s unclear, then, why he’s decided to speak up now to the Grapevine, and to be fair, his answer to the question is fittingly shady. “I was given permis- sion.” That’s all. Finally balanced While Einar’s character in the band is voiceless, stoic, and impassive, in person, Einar is rather sweet. He’s impeccably dressed and handsome. When he speaks, he uses no filler words and fiddles with his hands, speaking so articulately that it often feels like he’s dictating an academic essay. We sit in his studio—a cosy, lived-in flat peppered with bits and bobs of Hatari merchandise and Red Bull cans. “I’m balanced,” Einar responds, zen, when asked simply how things are going. “I am 27-years old—when a lot of musicians die—but it’s going well so far. I have nine months left.” The artist grew up bouncing between various European countries and began playing drums when he was 13-years old. Music, he emphasises, has always been a visceral experience for him. He instinctively remembers his early experiences with sound, like the first album he bought with his own money—Rammstein’s ‘Mutter’—and can describe vividly where he first listened to it. He even plays me the first song he ever wrote. “The wonderful thing about music is the nostalgia," he muses. "It can immediately transport you to a certain space and time. It’s really powerful.” The freedom of anonymity As a teenager, Einar met bandmate Klemens in Brussels. There was a two year age difference between the two. Being older, Einar immediately took young Klemens under his wing. “I remember thinking he was a bit of a kid, but I liked his spirit. He had a really unique radiation. There’s something good about him. He’s a good person,” Einar explains. The two were fast friends and quickly began collaborat- ing on music together. Because of this relationship, it was natural that Klemens would later go straight to Einar to show him the early Hatari recordings he made with his cousin, Matthías. “It was new, fresh, and weird, and something that I couldn’t put my finger on, which was really intrigu- ing. If you can’t put something in a box and you’re so desperately trying to find a definition of what it is and you can’t, I think that’s probably a really good posi- tion to be in, especially as a producer,” he says, reminiscing on those early listens. “I saw great potential.” Einar immediately jumped into the project, and quickly adopted his role as the silent Gimp. “I was always intrigued by the idea of being unknown, of being a mystery person behind the drums. People would wonder who it is,” he explains. “Especially in a small community like Iceland. It’s very diffi- cult to be anonymous. It’s very difficult to be Andy Kaufman. The music scene is very close-knit so the idea was just to have a masked drum gimp, which felt very fitting for me. It was some- body who I felt I was to an extent. And there’s a freedom in that.” Business 101 But Einar came to the group with more than just production experience, song- writing skills, and a great mask, he had a savvy mind, honed with a bachelor degree in business and years of experi- ence in the industry. “People associate business a lot with capitalism and consumerism, but business is why we started coming together as people,” he explains, softly but passionately. “Not that I want to start mansplaining a lecture on Busi- ness 101, but I find the whole idea that together we make something bigger really interesting. It’s a beautiful concept. It’s very scientific.” And from his perspective, the current musical landscape was an ideal place for a young, off-the-map outfit like Hatari to grow. “We live in the age of information,” he says. “The major industry is not as powerful as it was. As an independent artist, you can get way further without having to suck up to as many people in order to get your music heard. You can just upload it to the world wide web. The limitations are far less.” For Einar, this meant a world where listeners could hone more personal and outlandish musical tastes. “People often find their identity through art, music, and films, and often the way that it gets formed [depends on] what access you have,” he continues. “It used to be there might be one record label or one record shop that you’d have access to and then an identity was based on the curation of that record shop. I feel like there’s a rise in the development of subcultures. You don’t have to just stick to one thing; it’s a beautiful time.” Punish me 2020, Einar hopes, will also be a beauti- ful time, and a big year of business for Svikamylla. One must remember, the submissive Gimp is, after all, the CEO of the scam artists. “Not a lot of people know that I’m the CEO,” he admits, grinning. “It’s sort of a win-win situation. If we do well, and the quarterly reports are good, I am rewarded. If we do bad, and our sales are not good, I get punished,” he stops. “Which is also a reward.” Klemens i r “‘NEYSLUTRANS’ IS A GOODBYE ALBUM TO THE EARTH OR, RATHER, TO HUMANITY. THE EARTH WILL DO JUST FINE WITHOUT US.”

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